Page 61 of Riding the Curve

“But about halfway through ‘Smile’ I fucking fell apart. Sobbing into her chest, instead of being her strength when she needed it most. All my anger came out in waves of tears. Rage against the cancer stripping her life away. Exasperated by the daily torture it inflicted on her body every day. Resentment of myself for not being there for every moment that she endured this battle. She spent her last night in tears, consoling me. The next morning she passed while I was asleep, and that moment . . . it was the last memory we shared together. I failed her, Dad. I couldn’t even give her one last happy moment. For the past two years, I’ve lived with regret knowing her last precious moments of her beautiful life were spent in tears. Tears that I caused. I will never be able to forgive myself for that.”

The burning sensation was searing through my lungs, setting fire to my entire body. Grasping my chest, I gritted my teeth, shoving the last bit of shame I’ve been holding on for years free from my lips.

“That’s why I stayed away after the funeral. That's why it was so hard to hear your voice on the phone, to see you at my races. I felt like I didn’t fucking deserve your kindness, or your attempts to make me feel better, because I hadn’t done that for her. No matter how hard I try, I can't erase this horrible memory. Can’t silence the bully that continues to tell me what a worthless, selfish asshole I am. I thought staying away would make the pain lessen, that I’d be able to breathe—find my footing again. But it did the opposite. Though I was winning races on the outside, I was losing the race with myself a little each day.”

Dad’s burly arm tugs me out of my stool and into his chest. Filled with embarrassment, my face heats as I try to push away. Suddenly it was a repeat of all those years ago. I’m a grown man, yet here I am again crying in my Dad’s arms. My pushing only makes him hold me tighter against him. “Stop fighting it, son. Let it all out. Break. Fall apart. I’ll be here like I’ve always been.”

Almost like my body was just waiting for permission to release all the pain, I shatter. Every inch of shame and guilt.

The kitchen echoes with our sobs. Both of us holding onto each other for dear life. After a few moments, my chest finally unlocks, and I relish in the deep pull of air that fills my lungs.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Dad’s voice squeaks out, rough with emotion. “But I don’t ever want you to feel guilty for anything. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Therapy taught me a lot over these past two years. One of the most important things was that we all grieve in our own ways, including me.”

He pulls back, steadying my shoulders with his hands. “If I’m being honest, even though I missed you, I’ve been carrying my own shame. I was a little relieved that you stayed away for a little while. After your Mama passed, I wasn’t in the right headspace. Your Mama and I had been doing life together since we were eighteen years old, and the idea of living life without her felt impossible.”

“Which is why I should have been there for you. I’m so sorry I pushed you away. These past two years have been so hard without talking to you every day, without seeing you at my races. I’ve messed things up so badly,” I say, my head drooping between us.

Dad’s fingers grip my chin, lifting it back to face his gaze.

“No, it was better that you kept your distance for a bit, son. I didn’t want you to see me in that state; it wasn’t pretty. I went through a few months of not wanting to pull myself out of bed. Each day was a struggle for me to relearn how to live without her, and understand how to deal with my own grief so that I could still be present for you.

“It took every bit of my effort just to find myself again. If you would have been here, I think I would have shoved my emotions down, put on that strong front like we did for your mother for so long. Never truly healing. I fear that is exactly what you did, son. I’m ashamed I let you leave for so long without knowing you carried so much guilt.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Dad. I’m the one that needs to apologize. I should have been here. Even after everything you said, we could have healed together,” I whisper, lowering myself back down on the stool.

“Remember what I said, son, we don’t live our lives in reverse. We can’t change the past, but we damn well can make sure we follow your Mama’s advice and make sure we are more present in our lives. You think you can do that with me?”

I nod slowly, brushing my palms over my damp cheeks.

“Good. Then, no more apologies. Tonight is a fresh start for the both of us. The first step is bringing back Friday night dinners. Inside the house. We will fight those fears of yours one little step at a time.”

“Okay,” I breathe. A tinge of apprehension clinging to my voice.

Reaching into the back of his wallet, he pulls out a card and hands it to me. “Second step is reaching out for help. You’ve already started that process by coming home, but I think talking with someone else will continue to help you sort your way through your anxiety and your grief.”

Even though the idea terrifies me, our conversation has made me realize that it’s time I start breaking down my walls. Let go of all the hard memories and hold onto the good ones. And there are so many amazing memories melded into every inch of this house. It’s time I start learning to forgive myself. I know Mama wouldn’t want us shedding any more tears.

“Thank you for opening up. I know just how difficult that was for you.”

“As always, thank you for listening.”

He smiles softly as he stands and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m going to head to bed. You make sure you head out and help Hen finish cleaning up. Can you lock the screen door behind you, please?”

“Of course.”

With one hand on the railing, he pauses and turns back toward me. “I love you, son.”

“Love you, too.”

“It’s been nice having you home.”

Dad’s eyes glisten with unshed tears once more as he turns and heads upstairs. Grabbing the bottles, I toss them into the recycling and step onto the back porch, locking the screen behind me.

Henley’s figure moves about the outdoor kitchen as I head toward her. Each step feels a little bit lighter.

Something has shifted. The bricks I’ve been carefully placing over my heart through the years are gradually crumbling apart. I can’t help but feel that part of that shift has to do with the ray of light in front of me.

It’s like fate has finally allowed this collision to happen, for me to truly let in what’s been in front of me for all these years. A chance for me to finally dive all in with her.